


in media res

by Icestorm238



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: All the kids are Good Siblings, Blood and Injury, Diego-centric, Gen, Stabbing, their dad... not so much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 10:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18364172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icestorm238/pseuds/Icestorm238
Summary: Diego gets stabbed during a mission and does a terrible job of pretending he's fine.His father is not pleased. His siblings are understandably concerned.





	in media res

Diego hates the media at the best of times.

The flashing lights, the piercing shouts, the incessant questions. They follow the Academy around like cats chasing a laser pointer, always there, always waiting with cameras out and microphones extended and carefully prepared questions at the ready.

He hates it at the best of times, but right now, posing for a picture while trying to conceal an increasingly-irritating stab wound, that hatred hits a new peak.

Allison postures to his left, bathing in the attention she’s always craved, and every now and then her elbow digs into Diego’s side as she adjusts her pose. Diego allows the briefest flicker of his agony to show on his face before its gone, tucked away beneath his usual layer of indifference.

_ Fuck _ does it hurt, though. Diego knows his stance is slipping, that he’s sliding into a slump, but he can’t help it. It  _ hurts  _ \- to stand, to breathe, to smile and pretend that everything is  _ fine, always fine. _

He’s a good fighter. He’s always prided himself on that. The knife - one of Diego’s own, to add to the humiliation - had slunk into his abdomen as quietly and unexpectedly as a mouse, except the mouse was angry and was hacking its way through his skin with a razor-sharp axe and the axe was on fire because  _ ow. _ The  _ fine _ lie had been truth at first; the initial flare of pain had faded to numbness with a surprising speed (although Diego yanking the offending weapon out of his body to implant it neatly in the retreating attacker’s spine hadn’t helped matters) and he’d been as  _ fine  _ as he could be with a bleeding stomach wound staining around the hole in his uniform.

There didn’t seem to be all that much blood, though. It was lighter than he’d expected. Diego took solace in that if nothing else.

He’d come up with three options as he’d propped himself against a convenient wall and pressed hard against the wound: wait around to die (not ideal), slink away to face his father’s displeasure (not even remotely tempting) or join his siblings to face the adoring crowds and hope he could last long enough to give the show his father wanted.

The numb emptiness had returned and Diego had thought, rather eloquently,  _ screw it, _ and hobbled his way outside, a carefully-positioned arm concealing the injury and its leakage of blood from the eye of the public (and his family). He regrets it now. The pleasant numbness is long gone, replaced with a searing sting that throbs and aches with every breath Diego takes.

The camera lights are blinding, bewildering, nauseating. The cries and calls of the fans and the media are too loud, too eager, too much. What Diego really wants right now is to curl up in bed with his mother’s gentle touch driving away all traces of the pain, the world’s attention, and his father’s pressure. He would gladly kill to get to sleep.

“Stand properly, Diego,” Luther hisses through a plastered smile, dragging him from his yearning/disassociation/distraction. “You’re making us look bad.”

Diego swallows, straightens, and does his best not to grimace at the spike of pain the action creates. He doesn’t bother wasting his energy on a reply. Luther would neither listen nor care.

After another dizzying minute that feels more like an hour, Allison murmurs, “Why are you breathing funny?” through her own award-winning smile.

Diego hadn’t noticed his breathing speed up. He hadn’t noticed it coming thicker and faster than it should. He’d been too busy ignoring the bursts of fire racing through his veins from its burning centre in his gut, but now that Allison points it out he realises that he’s pretty much panting.

Distantly, Klaus and Five dissolve into a fit of laughter that their father will surely punish them for later. Diego doesn’t know what’s driven them to risk their father’s wrath, and he’s currently too preoccupied to care. He tries to find the words to respond to Allison, to brush her concerns away because, unlike Luther, she might actually see past his shitty pretence, and he doesn’t want to cause a panic.

Doesn’t want to anger their father.

The words won’t come no matter how hard he tries, and, for once, it is not the fault of his stammer. It’s the fault of the pain, the roaring agony that robs him of breath each time he tries to speak. In the end, he is forced to grit his teeth and gasp his way through it.

Allison turns slightly, allowing her to shoot a concerned glance at him from the corner of her eye. What she sees makes her recoil, breaking rank to fully face him. “Is that your blood?”

“What?!” Diego hears Luther react from his right beside him, but it sounds as though it’s coming from the other end of a really long tunnel. He turns too, blinks at Allison. Lets his gaze drop to the arm hiding his injury, where the red patch on his sleeve is growing at an alarming rate. Lifts it away from the wound and  _ yep, _ that’s a lot more blood than was there before. Looks back up at Allison. Thinks,  _ shit, _ and collapses.

The last thing he registers is arms wrapping around him as he falls.

  
  


He wakes to the sound of a violin.

The strings croon in his ear, playing a soothing melody that almost sends Diego straight back off to sleep. He resists, peeling his exhausted eyes open to fix on Vanya.

His sister, perched on the edge of the infirmary bed, plays confidently, assured in her ability, her eyes firmly shut. The bow glides effortlessly across the strings, singing a song that is unrecognisably familiar to Diego. He thinks she plays this one often, the sound meandering through the halls of the Academy in a pleasing constant. He thinks he’s drifted off to sleep while listening to it. He thinks, but he’s ashamed to admit he isn’t sure.

She comes to an abrupt halt once her eyes flit open and meet his, the bow stilling on the strings with a slight screech. They both wince at the noise.

“Hey,” Diego slurs after a pause, through what he can only assume is the heavy burden of pain medication weighing down his words. “You’re good.”

He’s not sure he’s ever told her that before. Vanya blinks, startled, and a stunningly bright smile begins to spread across her features, literally lighting her up. “Thanks,” she says, a little breathless. “Don’t look down.”

Diego looks down. He instantly regrets it when he catches sight of the IV line embedded in his skin. “Shit,” he gasps, dragging his gaze away to fixate instead on the crimson bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. That’s probably why his chest feels tight, he thinks numbly, to avoid thinking about the sharp object stuck in his arm.

“Sorry.” Vanya stifles a laugh, her eyes shining with mirth and guilt. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Do you think I can just-” Diego gestures with his non-stabbed arm- “yank it out?”

“No.” She’s laughing fully now - restrained, but still far more free than he can remember seeing her before. “No, Diego, please don’t, that’s a terrible idea.”

“No more terrible than getting stabbed and saying nothing, Number Seven.”

Diego’s own smile (smiling with a needle in his arm; the pain medication must be strong) fades as their father’s clipped voice resounds through the room. Vanya goes still, her grip on the neck of her violin tightening, the joy draining out her like water through a sieve.

He barely spares Vanya a glance. “Leave us.” She nods, shoots Diego a quick, meek smile, and flees past Pogo and Mom out the door. Diego already misses her.

“D-dad,” he chokes out, and curses his stutter for always flaring up at the most inconvenient times.

Mom steps beside him, doing something with the  _ needle  _ in his arm. Diego doesn’t watch, focusing on the lesser of two evils - his father - although he does return his mother’s gentle squeeze of his hand.

“How could you be so careless, Number Two?” his father says. The question contains no concern, just- just irritation. “You damaged the reputation of the Umbrella Academy with your foolishness.”

His temper, familiar and raw, erupts. “I p-p-pretended nothing was wrong to  _ protect  _ our r-reputation!” he spits, unintentionally leaning forward in his anger. He grimaces when this sends a spike of pain through his abdomen.

His father watches, expressionless as always. “And look where that got us. Apparently, we cannot take care of our own. We let them collapse on the pavement in blood-soaked uniforms.”

_ That’s accurate, _ Diego thinks dully, but has enough sense not to voice. Instead, quietly: “I thought I could last until we got home.”

“You thought wrong.” Hargreeves fixes his second son with a cold stare. “Don’t repeat this mistake.”

It is a warning. Diego just nods. His chest feels tight tight tight, like an iron clamp is biting down. Mom squeezes his hand again as his father sweeps out of the room like the heartless vampire he is.

“You will be better in no time, Diego, dear,” she says, full of the compassion his father lacks. Pogo nods and smiles from the doorway before disappearing after his master. “Try and get some more rest.”

Diego sighs, leaning back into the pillows. “Can you get that  _ thing  _ out of me?”

She smiles and fiddles with the IV. “Not yet, dear. Just a little longer.”

He huffs and she laughs, patting him fondly on the shoulder.

  
  


This time he wakes to chatter.

“Are you sure he’ll wake up soon?” a voice -  _ Allison, _ Diego recognises through the haze of sleep - says.

A weight shifts on his legs. “Pogo knows what he’s talking about,” Klaus drawls. “He’ll be up soon.”

“Now,” Diego groans. “I’m up now.” He forces his eyes open just as five heads snap towards him and a sixth shows no interest.

The bed creaks where Klaus is slumped on it, head using Diego’s legs as a pillow with absolutely no remorse. Ben perches much more delicately beside him, a gentle hand on Diego’s ankle in a gesture of comfort. Klaus grins ebulliently up at him; Ben’s smile is softer but no less warm.

Luther and Allison huddle close together, their fingertips barely touching. He isn’t sure if the others have changed clothes (except Ben, who has - he’s showered too, since a blood-bathed Ben is always a given after a mission) but Luther definitely hasn’t - blood stains the front of his uniform in a rather gruesome display. They watch him, concern evident in their gazes, and that’s a surprise coming from Luther.

Curled up in the neighbouring chair, Five flicks, disinterested, through a book. Diego can make out some fancy equations on the pages, but their meanings fly right over his head. Even if he wasn’t still half-asleep he wouldn’t care enough to decipher it. “You’re awake,” this brother says, not bothering to look up.

Vanya stands at a distance, apart from their siblings, one hand wrapped tight in the other, but when Diego grins weakly at her she returns the smile and shuffles closer. She doesn’t have her violin, and that makes him oddly sad.

“Hi,” Diego mumbles. “What happened to you?”

This is directed at Luther, who blinks as the attention turns to him. He looks down at the red smears on his blazer. “You did,” he says slowly. “This is your blood.”

Diego blinks back. “Oh.” After a moment he adds, “It’s a lot.”

“You bled a lot,” Allison says, still watching him with caution. “It was- we were worried.”

“You’re an idiot,” is Five’s helpful contribution, but Diego notes the lack of bite in his tone, and the way his eyes haven’t moved to take in a single word of his book.

“What happened?” Diego asks thickly. “After I blacked out. I didn’t want to ask Dad.”

His siblings look quickly to each other in a silent argument, all trying to delegate the explanation to another. Eventually Ben sighs, the hand that isn’t on Diego’s leg bunching in the blanket. “Luther grabbed you, Allison rumoured a path, Five threatened some people, and we got out of there.”

“The media’s having a field day,” Klaus laughs. His eyes are red-ringed - from tears, Diego hopes, somewhat selfishly - tears and not drugs. “Ranting about child cruelty and all that shit. Dad’s pissed.”

Diego groans. “I know.” He pauses, considers. “At least it makes him look bad.”

His siblings all react to that - Five and Klaus grin maliciously, Ben, Allison and Vanya look nervously pleased, and Luther looks to be experiencing an aneurysm. “Diego-” Number One tries to protest, but he is cut off by Five.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” his brother asks, still ‘engrossed’ in his book.

Diego shrugs as well as he can in his current position. “It was nothing.”

“You were  _ stabbed.” _

“I was fine!”

“You collapsed in a bloody heap!” This is Allison. Diego is surprised to see tears springing to her eyes. “With no warning!”

Vanya steps closer, slipping one hand into his. “We were worried. When you came back there was- there was so much  _ blood _ and I thought- I thought-”

“Hey, hey!” Diego squeezes her hand. “It’s okay. I’m fine, right? I have no plans to die any time soon.”

Finally,  _ finally, _ Five abandons the pretence and lets his book fall closed on his lap, twisting to fix Diego with a glare. “Then next time you’re injured you might like to  _ tell _ one of us.”

Luther -  _ Luther  _ \- nods his agreement. “Don’t scare us like that again,” he grumbles. A streak of blood lines his cheek. “We can’t afford to lose you.”

Diego throws a hand to his chest, gasping loudly with delight. “Aww Luther, you  _ do _ care!” He notes, as he moves, that the IV is gone, and that’s a welcome relief.

His brother sputters, and their other siblings dissolve into laughter - bar Five, who rolls his eyes and teleports out. “Of course I care, you idiot!”

Allison moves forward, dragging Luther with her by the hand, to steal Five’s vacated seat. She reaches over to grasp Diego’s free hand, the one that isn’t full of Vanya. She holds tight. Diego squeezes in response.

Five returns, popping into existence right next to Ben, causing the boy to cry out and fall off the bed in surprise. Laughing maniacally, Klaus rolls over and extends a hand to drag him back up. Diego aims a light-hearted kick at Klaus as he digs into Diego’s leg.

Oblivious to the chaos he’s caused, Five tosses an unopened bag of - popcorn? Yeah, that’s popcorn - onto Diego’s lap. “I brought snacks.” He shoots a glare at Allison as he moves to retake his seat and finds it occupied. She smiles sweetly back.

As he settles back into his spot, Ben wearily asks, “Did you steal that?”

“Duh,” Five scoffs, sliding to the floor for lack of a better seat. “Where else would I get it, our kitchen? Don’t make me laugh, Dad would  _ never.” _

_ “Five,” _ Vanya admonishes, but she’s grinning and reaching for a handful from the bag that Klaus has already torn open.

Diego doesn’t have a free hand to eat with but that’s fine - his stomach still hurts, and he doesn’t think eating after a stabbing is recommended. He’s content to sit amongst his siblings. This is enough.

“Seriously, dude,” Klaus says through a full mouth, pointing with a handful of popcorn. Kernels fall to decorate Diego’s lap. “Don’t go doing stupid shit and dying on us. I don’t want any of you assholes haunting me for all eternity.”

Diego grins, kicks Klaus hard in the side, and doesn’t even care that it aggravates his injury. Worth it. “I’ll try,” he promises, because fuck Dad, and fuck the media.

He knows who matters, and it’s not either of them.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be solid angst but the end devolved into sibling bonding and I have no regrets


End file.
